


known menaces

by arcanamagnus



Series: known menaces [2]
Category: Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Combiner Dynamics, Dead End Is A Mess, F/F, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Post-Canon, STUNTICON REUNION!!, actually they're all a mess but u get it, friends facilitating the whole getting together, oh and motormaster is not in this bc he's kinda really dead, probs good to add this since i've decided to make it explicit now, references to sticky but idk if there'll actually be any
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanamagnus/pseuds/arcanamagnus
Summary: Dead End was content (as much as he could be, anyway) with his current situation as a pining, emotional mess, but his long-separated team returning to Cybertron might just be enough to force him into action.
Relationships: Astraea/Drag Strip, Breakdown/Dead End/Drag Strip/Wildrider, Breakdown/Knock Out, Dead End/Perceptor (Transformers)
Series: known menaces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674862
Comments: 21
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in which I love Dead End and want him to be very loved (also this is my apology for "where you don't see me")

Dead End should've known that his former teammates wouldn't be gone for long. He hadn't seen any of them for centuries, since their little rebellion and brutal murder of their insufferable leader, but they'd sneaked illicit communications many times over their forced separation. It'd figured it wouldn't take long after the signal was sent into the universe promising peace and amnesty for Dead End's comm to start lighting up with ETAs and silly messages.

Drag Strip was the first — obviously, wasn't she always? — to ring him, brassy Velocitronian accent grating in his audial as he went about his new routine of sitting alone in a dark corner of under-new-management Maccadam's until Perceptor came to kick him out. 

_ "Dead End,"  _ her voice sounded, playfully aggressive, in his head the instant he accepted the connection,  _ "enjoying Cybertron without me?" _

_ "Not for long, it seems.”  _ She must be close if she could actually get through to his personal frequency without them both being on terminals. _ “Finally paying a visit?"  _ He teased, as if Drag Strip ever did anything like a social call, but they and their little group were tethered to each other on a fundamental level, so of course she couldn’t stay away.

_ "Well, Cybertron has long been missing its brightest spark. Though I figure I can spare a cycle or two to see your ugly mug before I’m back to ruling the racetracks."  _ Dead End could almost see in his mind the dramatic posturing Drag Strip usually did when boasting her hopes and dreams. 

Dead End answered with a sarcastic dismissal, so caught up in their back-and-forth routine that the clinkle of glasses barely startled him until he looked up to see Perceptor retrieving his mug. It surprised him to see that there was a subtle smile on his face even as he informed him the place was closed with the usual gentle firmness.

Too dazzled to formulate a suitable response, Dead End blubbered an apology and clumsily went about getting out, all while Drag Strip elaborated on her Velocitron Cup revival fantasy. Just as he was almost out the door, Perceptor addressed him again:

"And Dead End? It's good to see you happy."

His spark burned a little hotter inside his chest as he transformed and sped off with scarce acknowledgement. And Drag Strip continued to talk some thing or other about getting dipped and kissed and proposed to atop the podium. It all combined into a ridiculous situation, really. He verbalised it, unthinking, and Drag Strip went quiet for a second.

_ "Dead End." _ Oh, she was  _ actually _ getting aggressive now.

_ "No, not you."  _ He assured her, not ready to endure Drag Strip’s brand of anger so soon after reconnecting.  _ "Just… an Autobot." _

_ "Oh. Did you slag them?" _

_ "What? No!" _

_ "Do  _ I  _ need to slag them? 'Cause you know I'll do it." _

Dead End very much knew Drag Strip would do it. She was particularly inclined to slice to pieces anyone who threatened her reputation, and that grew to include the  _ team's _ reputations and occasionally feelings after a while. By the time they earned their “emancipation”, she and Wildrider had become the single most well-oiled pair of deranged killers on this side of the galaxy, whether killing for sport, honour or assignment, and Dead End would really not wish to incite their glitched concept of justice on  _ Perceptor _ , of all mechs. By Primus’ own ball-bearings, he  _ liked _ Perceptor. More than he liked to think about.

_ “ _ Please _ do not slag him. I can’t hang out in his bar if he’s dead.” _ He ended up saying instead, because you  _ don’t _ show weakness or, worse, softness to Drag Strip.  _ “But then again he might still want to work as a lifeless corpse.” _

_ "Hang on just an astrosec. You? In a bar?"  _ Her voice was a mix of incredulous and deeply amused, ready to bust out laughing at any moment.  _ "That I have to see.” _

_ “It’s just dingy old Maccadam’s. I’m not clubbing, Drag Strip.” _

_ “Yes, but you never ‘hang out’. You barely did with  _ us _. There’s something you’re not telling me.” _

Dead End cursed subvocally as he fiddled with the lock on his apartment door. He didn’t know what would be worse, leaving Drag Strip in the dark and letting her come to her own conclusions or just own up to lusting after Autobot aft. It was bad enough when Breakdown got the hots for that doctor and Drag Strip went  _ crazy _ , though that had certainly been because Knock Out was too much like her and she felt threatened. How would she even react to someone like Perceptor?

_ “Hey, I’m still here, y’know?”  _ Drag Strip reminded him, frustrated.  _ “Whatever your damage is, my crew and I should be touching down by tomorrow. And I  _ will _ go clubbing in ‘dingy old Maccadam’s’ with you, just so you know.” _

_ “Thanks, Drag Strip.”  _ He murmured rather sarcastically, slumping on his desk with a full-body sigh. Great. He’d  _ so _ get found out like this.  _ “You’ll comm me when you get here?” _

_ “No promises. I’ve got a very hot date to attend to, so you’re not exactly high priority." _

_ “Oh, so Miss High Standards finally has found a match?” _

_ “More than that.” _ Drag Strip deepened her voice, audibly smiling.  _ “I think we can make a new and improved Menasor. Confront style.” _

Now that gave Dead End pause. He wouldn’t say he  _ missed _ being Menasor — as they were anyway —, any positive memory of being huge and powerful and  _ whole _ overshadowed by Motormaster’s cruelty, their combined form’s shattered psyche, but maybe… Maybe a Menasor without Motormaster could be different, better.

_ “Wait. Why ‘confront’ style? Menasor originally operated on ‘repel’ code even if we only had Wildrider with that directive.”  _ He thought to ask, hanging on details to avoid getting deep into how that made him feel.

_ “Because this time  _ I _ will be calling the shots. Motormaster might’ve been in control last time, but he didn’t resonate with the full state of the combiner as much as Wildrider.”  _ He was about to comment on how that was an awful lot of technobabble from someone who barely had her GED, but Drag Strip seemed to notice as well.  _ “Primus, that was awful to say. Anyway, that’s Glit’s take on it. Can’t say if they’re right, but we’re doing girl Menasor this time and she’s going to be the hottest thing  _ ever _ if I have a say on it.” _

_ “Sure she will. This counts on the others also coming back to Cybertron, though.” _

_ “Yeah. Wildrider is on their way, I talked to them earlier. Not sure about Breakdown, but we can contact him if he doesn’t show.” _

_ “I see…”  _ All the Stunticons reunited in Cybertron, now  _ that  _ was a thought. On one hand, he terribly missed the few mechs he got to call  _ friends _ , but on the other… he didn’t think Cybertron could handle the sheer uncontained chaotic energy of them all together without the stifling force of Motormaster — Dead End would never regret offing the slagger, but he  _ did _ have kind of a vital job in keeping things from getting  _ too _ wild. The introduction of Drag Strip’s new squeeze really could make or break this, if she expected them to make Menasor coherent and cohesive.

And  _ oh, oh Primus _ . He just realised. If they were to form Menasor again, there was no way to get around his growing fears of inadequacy and craving for intimacy, much less the fact that those revolved around one specific mech.

Still, Dead End continued the call with Drag Strip  _ trying _ to not let any more embarrassing bits show through until she called it off herself, bragging that she was about to get much better spike than his. He supposed he could be happy for her, as long as this new mystery mech was cool with the whole pillow princess thing — he knew it’d been part of why the two of them never really worked out in that regard.

He went to bed with far too many thoughts, mostly about Menasor and Perceptor, but some even about Motormaster, and he was very much sure he’d have one Void of an ache in his processor by morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Drag Strip awoke to a nice, sharp hand skimming the edge of her broad spoiler and a powerful engine rumbling under her face and chest. It was a scene straight out of Silicon Valhalla (and Drag Strip’s own dreams) when her lover noticed her rousing and pressed a soft kiss right to the top of her helm. Drag Strip nuzzled into the windshield below her, a formless purr on her vocaliser.

"X-Gunner says our permits are clear," Astraea's low, raspy voice rumbled pleasantly through Drag Strip's body, "We can set out any time you like."

It was always straight to business with Astraea, at least in words, and Drag Strip very much liked that. Unmistakable affectionate gestures, no empty words. That marked her as worthy of being  _ team _ , so much more so than all of these washed-up nobodies they ended up assigned to.

Drag Strip murmured a warbled “Good morning” and “Thanks, luv”, but only shifted into a more comfortable position atop Astraea. And Astraea just let her, hand still stroking her spoiler. Yes, absolutely perfect.

* * *

After a joor and a half of pointless snuggling and a thorough clean-up, Drag Strip was ready to leave this miserable little ship and hit the road. The new Decepticon capital looked absolutely dreary, a very beat-up Titan covered in artless graffiti that reminded Drag Strip far too much of her own beginnings, but X-Gunner hadn't the gall to try and land in Iacon. Still, Drag Strip could and  _ would _ make any place she touched into a catwalk.

She didn't call Dead End, keen on keeping him guessing, but the fashion disaster of a grunt working the spaceport gave her clear directions on where to find him. Or well, he actually said "Oh, that loser? Probably mooning over that blind weirdo in Maccadam's, again", which seemed to match the information the loser himself had given her.

It was laughable how much better the reconstruction was going over at the formerly Autobot side of the planet. It figured, what with the Decepticon manual workers who were content to  _ remain _ manual workers being off-planet and the Autobots' lack of personal experience with the degrading and weary side of it colouring their willingness to work. Or that's how someone more observant would put it, anyway.

Still, it looked… lively — Drag Strip wouldn't mind living here, even if Astraea made sure to point that they were driving over a very recently dead Titan, just for spooky points. Autobot and Decepticon alike filled the streets with amiable chatter, and Maccadam's, obviously, was no exception.

It was sad to see that the titular bartender was, for the first time in living memory, absent. The Autobot that manned it instead was truly, as the spiky green guy back in Croaton had put it, a blind weirdo. His voice was flat as he poured them their drinks and pointed them to the corner next to the storage room, where her dearest loser sat, completely zoned out.

Dead End looked as dead as the name implied, not showing any signs of noticing Drag Strip — a crime, really — until she was close enough to seductively lean over the table and flick his nose.

“Hey! Ow, what the— Drag Strip?” Dead End shook his head, finials set far back and nose scrunched up before finally looking at her.

“Right on the money, hot shot.” She smiled wide, still half laid on the table. “You look like slag.”

“Thanks, I try,” he bit out sarcastically, arms crossed, “I just haven’t felt like giving myself a full wax and polish lately.”

“Damn, the situation is critical, then,” she pursed her lips and made a show of taking a seat next to him and throwing an arm between his neck and car hood, “A long way from the second prettiest Stunticon you were, aren’t you?”

Dead End just grumbled at her, but Drag Strip easily caught the sidelong glance he cast back to the counter.  _ Hmm, juicy. _

And then, he noticed Astraea standing by their table with arms crossed.

“Uhhhh, hi?” He said, intelligently. Drag Strip barely was able to muffle her laughter, knocking Dead End’s head with her own. Astraea herself couldn’t help a small smile, though it probably wouldn’t be apparent to anyone but Drag Strip. “That’s the new GF?”

“The one and same! She’s not really much of a talker, are you babe?”

“I’d say my results tend to speak for themselves,” Astraea smirked, playful for one who knew her, rather arrogant for those that didn’t.

"They really do!" She turned back to Dead End, still holding him close, "You should've seen her in Archa IX… I know  _ I _ fell in love instantly."

"Flatterer," Astraea waved her off, expression soft, and also directed herself to Dead End, "It  _ is _ good to finally meet you though."

"Likewise, Miss…?"

"Astraea of Centurion."

"Right. Uh, good to meet you, Astraea. And Drag Strip?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not getting any shinier with your arm kibble chafing my neck."

* * *

Playing catch-up was undeniably nice, but Drag Strip noticed… some oddities. Dead End was twitchy (well, twitchier), pointedly avoided questions as simple as where he lived or what he’d been up to since peace, and dodged her kiss goodbye so it landed on his cheek instead. Astraea found it funny, the last part at least.

“I thought ‘kissing the homies goodnight’ was, as you put it, ‘integral to the maintenance of the Stunticon dynamic’?” She asked her in the drive back to their ship. Rather hypocritically too, considering she saw Drag Strip do it and straight up hit them with a stone cold “I am  _ not _ doing that.”

“Well, it used to be. For us limbs, at least. I wouldn’t touch Motormaster’s lips with a 10 metron pole.”

“So you chose me as the new body so you could finally kiss  _ all _ the homies?”

If they’d been in root mode, Drag Strip would’ve instantly climbed her like a tree to show Astraea just how much she loved her, but as was she just laughed across their comm and swerved a little closer on the road in an imitation of a hip bump. Still, doubt did come to creep in.

“Do you think… he’s awkward with us because of you? Because I chose someone for real?”

“Oh, no. I definitely think he’s jealous, but not how you’re thinking.”

And then it hit, and Drag Strip hit the brakes and transformed, kicking rocks by roadside.

“‘Moonin’ over the blind weirdo’, how did I  _ not _ connect this!” The sidelong glances, the weird cryptic talk from yesterday,  _ everything _ ! Dead End was  _ in love _ and depressed about it because he was an idiot with the emotional self-awareness of a space slug! How  _ typical _ .

Astraea’s vehicle mode had just pulled up beside her, lights blinking inquisitively.

They  _ had  _ to call Wildrider the instant they got back their flying hunk of junk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this glimpse at the wonderful world of Drag Strip! Also would y'all be interested in a sidestory centring on Drag Strip and Astraea and how that relationship came to be?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm soooo sorry for how long this one took (and all that to not even break 1k words...) but like. life happened y'know? either way, we're back to dead end yay!!

_ That went well _ , Dead End though, rolling his optics as, for once, he left Maccadam’s before closing. A surreptitious look back assured that  _ yes _ , Perceptor noticed that, and it made that weird warm feeling bloom in his tanks like it did every single time optic met scope.

It soured, as it always did, after a second thought, but this time it was mostly because Drag Strip had seemed so… happy with her new love. And yes, it was  _ love _ , he could tell. Different from the weird sort of love that characterised the bond between the remaining Stunticons but every bit as comfortable. Dead End wished he could have something like that. Maybe he should’ve let Drag Strip kiss him, take him back to that blissful existence when all that mattered was  _ team _ , but even she was changed now. He wasn’t sure he didn’t like it.

Maybe he should change too.

It was that spirit of change that he decided that he needed to do  _ something _ with his apartment. There wasn’t much he could do about the size — barely enough for him to transform and sleep in alt mode should he want to —, but it wasn’t as if letting useless stuff pile up helped any, so he decided to start by the grueling effort of taking out trash.

There wasn’t an awful lot of things that were  _ objectively _ rubbish, like the pile of energon goodie wrappers or the packs of dead batteries, but there were far too many possibly useful things strewn about where they shouldn’t be. He found more than one unopened can of polish kicked under his bed right by that glitchy old vibrator from before the war he barely tried to use anymore and a scratchy blanket he bought at half price from some seeker. Drag Strip  _ was _ right in that he was neglecting his appearance in a way so unlike himself, but he was also neglecting  _ everything _ .

He resisted the urge to lay back in bed and just sleep this problem away. That had  _ never _ helped. So he took one of the tins — subpar wax honestly, but it’d do the job — and went about working on himself.

He was in the middle of fiddling with a persistent discolouration on his thigh when his comm rang again. He sighed very deeply before accepting the call.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy Deadster!”

_ Of course _ , it had to be them.

“Wildrider.”

“That me name, yeah, but that ain’t the point here. Drags tells me you need an intervention; you’re  _ ugly _ !”

Dead End dropped his polishing cloth.

“I’m  _ not! _ ”

“Her words, not mine.” Still, the smile was very audible in their voice when they continued. “I should be dropping in a couple orns and we  _ will  _ take you out smashin’, like it or not. Give you an excuse to  _ really _ get ugly and then Drags can patch you up and make you all pretty again. You still have that mask?”

You know what? That really did sound appealing.

But then,  _ what about the mask? _

“I… do have it, yes. Haven’t been using it though.”

"No longer protecting the money-maker?”

“ _ You _ try being stationed on dead Cybertron for millennia.” He made a pointing motion with his finger as if Wildrider could see him, and then felt very silly. “ All the action here it could protect my face from would be a punch from Skywarp. Why you ask?”

“I dunno, just was used to you keeping your pretty face cooped up in there because you can’t just buff and polish it, I guess.”

Dead End knew Wildrider knew, as did Drag Strip and Breakdown, that the habit came from working in a foundry before the War, but the beauty concern  _ was _ the party explanation.

“Well, now the pretty face gets to be seen. I don’t plan on shoving it into any fires any time soon,” he paused for a second, knowing just what Wildrider must be thinking, “No, this is not an invitation.”

“Awww. Can I shove  _ my _ face into a fire though?”

Dead End sighed  _ very _ deeply. “You’re  _ so _ lucky Shockwave’s dead.”

Wildrider cackled for a bit before the pin finally dropped in their empty room of a processor. “Horrible spider-tank is dead?”

“Very much so.”

“How are we getting Drag Strip’s girl modded into Menasor’s torso then?”

Ah. Yes.

“I hadn’t… It didn’t come up when we talked earlier.” Dead End ran his hand over his face and groaned. “Fuck. How  _ are _ we making Menasor, Ariel Dream Combiner Edition, without Shockwave?”

“Don’t you know any other scientists? Who aren’t, like, Sky-Byte? I heard he turned one of Drag Strip’s shipmates into a cat.”

Perceptor’s ridiculously handsome fucked up face came up in Dead End’s head, and he uttered a tentative “I guess?” before Wildrider grew wild with glee, clearly excited to be soon able to smash buildings again. 

They soon paused in their cheery tirade about property destruction with yet another not-so-stupid question.

“How did you meet them though? Far as I remember old Megsy tried to keep science bots out of Cybertron and you’ve been stuck on Ground Zero for, what, three hundred millennia?”

“Three hundred and forty eight,” Dead End corrected them, deadpan, “Me and the girls weren’t the only stupid bastards hanging around this dead marble for fucking ever, y’know? There was an Autobot team stationed in Iacon City. I’ve tussled with their scientist a time or two. Makes pretty nice drinks nowadays, if you wanna meet him when you drop.”

Wildrider became uncharacteristically silent at that, and Dead End was just about to ask if they were okay when the bomb dropped:

“Ok, so the scientist who’s gonna put us all back together is the same guy as the weird bartender guy Drag Strip says you’re crushing on?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok DON'T get used to this because my average update time is one month but funny filler is fun to write also i was very inspired by all the lovely comments 💚
> 
> also because i forgot to link these in previous chapters [this](https://arcanamagnus.tumblr.com/post/612881871642230784/quick-sketches-of-cyberverse-designs-for-the-other) and [this](https://arcanamagnus.tumblr.com/post/617953999746940928/finally-the-secret-5th-cyberverse-stunticon) are my designs for the new team stunticon!
> 
> anyway, welcome to the not-so-wonderful world of wildrider! with some fun cameos to boot (i might do cv designs for them too, just because)

Wildrider was many things: a maniac, a berserker, an overly excitable buffoon, but they weren't clueless. Yes, they had below-average intelligence as per Functionist evaluation, but they weren't  _ stupid _ . Drag Strip — ridiculously smart queen that she was — planted in their head a quick and easy description of Dead End’s troubles and they  _ would  _ make connections, naturally.

Sure, Drags  _ had _ told them to focus on the self-care part because that was killing two avianoids with one stone, but Dead End had to bring up such interesting questions and so stuff might’ve gotten away from them a little.

So yes, they brought up the “feelings for an Autobot” issue. Drag Strip hadn’t told them  _ not _ to.

Dead End was shocked silent, aborted vocalisations clicking until they finally resolved into a curse so vicious Unicron himself would be trembling in his boots were it not said in such a “woe is me” way.

“I  _ assumed _ , by the lack of vitriolic flaming sword threats, that Drag Strip hadn’t catched on yet, but thanks for the forewarning,” he had the decency to say after that. How cute.

“The Lieutenant was the one who did the catching on, so that might be it on that,” Wildrider admitted, “Also Drags is  _ not _ going to haze your new guy because ‘he’s not a threat to polycule stability’.” They made sure to add the air quotes even if Dead End couldn’t see them; they were very important, you see.

“Who the fuck is— Oh, right. Astraea.” Did Dead End not know Drag Strip spent several vorns referring to her GF solely as  _ the Lieutenant  _ because she couldn’t pronounce her name? Well, they wouldn’t be the one to tell him. “Also ‘not a threat to polycule stability’, I hate when Drag Strip brings out the technical talk.” Wildrider could hear the fond edge to it though; they all had a good laugh when Drag Strip accidentally got fancy and tried to shove it onto someone else.

“Either way! This time you’ve got us all on your side! We’ll get you your scientist bartender with the blown-out optics!” They beamed, little jazz hands even though, again, Dead End couldn’t see them. “And then  _ I’ll _ be the only one of us without a plus one.”

“Wait, Breakdown’s  _ dating _ ?”

“Remember Knock Out? They eloped some ten thousand vorns ago, I think? Don’t tell Drag Strip.” 

“Aren’t they coming to Cybertron together? She’ll find out either way,” Dead End pointed out, but Wildrider knew he wouldn’t actually  _ tell _ .

“That’s why they’re stalling! But if Drags is too busy fussing over  _ your _ love life, she won’t be as mad at Breakdown for having-a-husband crimes!”

“Huh, that actually might work,” Dead End sounded somewhat surprised, “You’re sure prime at the hustle, aren’t you?”

“I am!” They smiled widely, genuinely happy at the rare compliment, “Also I should probably tell Drag Strip the cybercat’s out of the bag.”

“You probably should. I was actually taking her advice and working on my finish, y’know?”

“Ooooh, pretty Dead End comeback?”

“Pretty Dead End comeback,” he echoed in a definitely less excited tone, “And now, Dead End out?”

“Wildrider out!”

They cut the connection with that gleeful smile on their face, rolling this way and that on their bed. They were  _ so _ excited to see their teammates again!

Before any of their  _ present _ teammates could appear to further embroil them into the everlasting struggle for command between Jetstorm and Shadowstalker, Wildrider opened a commline to his bestest friend Drag Strip.

Or tried to, either way. It seemed her comm was disabled, so they did the next best thing and pinged the Lieutenant (they  _ really _ liked that nickname).

“Hey, I—” was all they could get in before Astraea closed the connection with a sharp “ _ We’re busy”. _

So they did the next,  _ next _ best thing and very carefully sneaked out of their room to the communications deck. Glacius and Swelter were there, looking bored as slag and Wildrider made a shushing motion at them as they accessed the vidscreen and pinged Drag Strip’s ship.

And  _ this time _ , Wildrider got their answer.

“Hello, Miss Commander!” They cheerily greeted the ever so pretty Commander Thunderblast.

“Hello to you as well, Wildrider~” She answered with a matching attitude. It wasn’t actually uncommon for Wildrider to abuse both his crew’s and Drag Strip’s long range communication apparatus, so Thunderblast could almost be considered a family friend. “I assume you want to talk to Drag Strip?”

“Yes, please, Miss Commander!” Wildrider made a mock military salute, grinning like silly, as Thunderblast left to attend to his wish.

“Who are  _ you _ calling Miss Commander, spoiler for brains?” Came Jetstorm’s lilting voice as he slapped Wildrider over the head with his weird three-fingered hands. So much for not attracting  _ their _ Commander’s attention.

“I don’t have a spoiler anymore?”

“Right on the money, hotshot.”

“ _ Hey! _ ”

“Don’t go insulting  _ my _ subordinates, Mr. Air Superiority Complex,” Shadowstalker’s displeased voice came over from the other side. So much for not attracting his Commander _ s _ ’ attention.

“Your subordinates, my—”

“Assuming Commanders Jetstorm and Shadowstalker are done with you, dear Wildrider,” Thunderblast  _ thankfully _ interrupted them with her return, “Drag Strip and Astraea were engaged in other activities, but they will take your very urgent message, will you not?” She turned, very passively-aggressively, to the two very ticked off mechs behind her.

“Yes, Wildrider, what could be  _ so  _ urgent that you interrupt my beauty time?” Drag Strip asked through gritted teeth, taking Thunderblast’s place on the chair. Her and the Lieutenant’s faces were still full of that gross slime Drag Strip insisted improved faceplate elasticity and had made them all wear at least once a decaorn back in the day.

“Uh,” they looked back at his still-arguing superior officers, “I think it can wait.”

“No, I think you’ve pretty much established it cannot.”

Wildrider took another look back, but decided that yeah, they’d bothered Drag Strip too much not to actually tell her.

“Dead End knows we know about the bartender guy who is actually a scientist and also y’all might have to recruit him for making Menasor because Shocks is kinda really dead.”

Their answer, surprisingly, came from the ever-silent Lieutenant, leaning down into frame.

“Elaborate.”

“That’s, uh, all, Miss Lieutenant.”

And up and foreground he could see Drag Strip very clearly mouth at them “ _motherfucker_ ”, as if they knew what a mother was and why they would be fucking one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy we're back on track!
> 
> dead end's daily soap opera continues

Whether by the fact that yesterday he’d socialised far too much more than usual or by the fact that the whole combiner thing weighed down far heavily on his mind, Dead End woke up late for his showing up at Maccadam’s the instant the light sign flicked “open”. He took it leisurely, moving unhurried about his home and on the way from his apartment to the bar — Dead End absolutely denied that he might’ve been stalling, but he knew he spent far too much time looking at himself in the mirror and rehearsing his words at himself for it not to look like he was  _ scared _ of asking for favours.

As he pulled over and transformed outside Maccadam’s, Dead End noticed Drag Strip and Astraea were already waiting for him — the latter leaning cooly against the front wall, the former sitting down dejectedly on the curb.

Astraea noticed him first, and lightly kicked Drag Strip into motion. She watched amusedly as Drag Strip came to  _ attack him _ with a jumping hug and a slap on the aft.

“Slugger!! You look  _ nice _ !” Drag Strip so bluntly told him as she ran her fingers all over his finish, "Finally got ashamed of wallowing in filth?"

“Thanks, Drag Strip,” he deadpanned, “Thought to use  _ my _ confrontational wiles to seduce us a scientist since everyone wants to meddle in my love life anyway.”

“Hm. Touchy, aren’t you? Like, that’s the best possible reaction I can give you, you know that.”

He knew. He  _ really  _ knew. Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

They continued bickering about  _ privacy _ and  _ meddling _ on the way inside the bar, Astraea accompanying them austerely by the back. The already bustling clientele parted as they walked in, and the sensors under Dead End’s plating  _ crawled _ under their stares — he might  _ like _ looking good for himself, but the “being looked at” factor was honestly more of an irritant than anything. 

Astraea stopped them before they said anything potentially embarrassing, thankfully. Her sharp, clawed hands gripped them both tightly around the shoulders and pushed them to face the counter, flatly greeting Perceptor for them.

“Hello to you as well,” Perceptor pointed his scope at them, not stopping his drying of just-washed glasses, “Dead End’s friends from yesterday, I assume?”

“Drag Strip and Astraea, yes,” Drag Strip took upon herself to coyly remark as Dead End froze like a cervicon in the headlights, “Our very dear friend has an important thing to ask you, hasn’t he?” And she elbowed him under the windshield,  _ hard _ .

"Yes! Yes, I have," Dead End bit out, his midsection still smarting, "Uh, it's kind of a big thing and a long shot, so it's fine if you can't or don't want to or-"

"Dead End," Perceptor interrupted, a shadow of kindness on his scarred face, "You can just ask."

That had him suppress a whimper, and he could hear Drag Strip muffling laughter off to the side, but he got on with it.

“Do you remember Menasor?”

“I… do. I was always stationed here in Iacon, however, and I never got to see them in action or actively participate in planning to counter them, but I do have basic intel,” Perceptor answered cautiously, “Combiner experiment, which you were a part of, developed in Kaon and deployed to maintain control over the region after the departure of the Ark, decommissioned after thirty thousand five hundred and seventy-six vorns due to the untimely demise of Motormaster. ”

“Yeah, Drag Strip and Wildrider kinda drew and quartered him.”

“You  _ helped! _ ” Drag Strip exclaimed in the distance.

“I _did!_ ” He yelled back, and turned again to Perceptor with a very straight face, “I assure you he deserved it. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, uh, I wanna ask if you had any combiner engineering experience?”

Perceptor put the glass and rag down, dragging a hand across his mouth before answering him.

“I initially argued against the development of artificial combiner technology, you know?”  _ Fuck. _ “But I did participate in drafting the schematics for Superion after it was clear my side had lost.”  _ Oh, thank Primus. _

“So, uh, cool,” he heard Drag Strip snickering again, though she was shushed by Astraea, “We were kind of getting the band back together here and we wanted…” he tried to think of a way to put it that didn’t involve smashing things and general destructive behaviour, “To be able to be one again, whenever we want to.”

“And you would like me to help you?”

“Uh, yeah. Shockwave did our original schematics, but he’s kind of not available right now and we  _ really _ don’t wanna go to Sky-Byte, though his work on Abominus was pretty choice, I gotta admit.”

Perceptor smiled at him —  _???? _ — and Dead End seriously didn’t know how to  _ act _ when he gave him a final, verbal answer.

“We can discuss this more at length later, after closing, if that would be fine by you and yours.”

_ Date? Date???? Was this a date?????  _ Dead End’s mind was positively racing with excited, hare-brained mushy thoughts and he wanted to slam his head against a wall, but he just smiled back and said, “Sure, I’d like that.” After a second thought, he remembered to add, “We’re still missing two though, so it’s not, like, an urgent thing.”

“I still think it’d be worth talking over as soon as possible. Besides,” he tilted his head in an odd way that, hadn’t he known better, Dead End would’ve thought of as him being coy, “It is nice to actually talk to my most loyal customer.”

Dead End was  _ sure _ he was burning up then and there, so he bid Perceptor a quick “Thank you” and “Talk to you later” and went back to his usual post, where the girls were waiting for him, as his crush returned to business.

Drag Strip had the most slag-eating grin on her face as she asked him how it’d turned out.

Dead End really didn’t know what to tell her, so he just banged his head against the table and covered it with his arms, stewing in embarrassment.

“I think that means it turned out better than expected,” said Astraea, ever so insightful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early morning is the best time to write lol
> 
> this chapter is full of weird typos on the narration bc that's literally just how breakdown thinks, that is intentional
> 
> either way, enjoy <3

If there was one thing that easily sent Breakdown into a panic, it was a text message on his comm saying “DON’T PANIC”, but it still didn’t occur to Wildrider that starting a very important message with that was a very bad idea.

“DON’T PANIC, but you should probably not turn on video next call you get also ask the hubbie to keep quiet please” was the full message from them and Breakdown thought to ask for clairifization because that was not clear  _ at all _ , but the ship’s communications array lit up with a call from Commander Thunderblast’s ship before he could even type  _ hey what the fuck _ .

Very luckily, communications was Breakdown’s assigned job on this ship; very unluckily, the entire crew of four liked to hang around on the bridge because it was a tiny little shuttle and they had nothing better to do.

Before Nightbeat could lean over him and accept the call and he could panic even further, Breakdown pledginly shushed his crewmates and turned off the camera.

_ "Breakdown?" _ Drag Strip's acrid voice sounded from the speakers, strangely modulated by all the mess Skids' had done to their sound system to play alien music on it.

"Uh, yes, Drags? Been a hot minute since you called."

"Out of range, dumbass. Also you dropped off the map a couple centuries ago  _ and didn't give me your new ship code. _ " She sounded mad about it too, which he'd guessed she'd be, but thought best to postulate it for future Breakdown to deal with.

Knock Out came up over his shoulder, a curious and distressingly mischefous look on his face. Breakdown batted his hands at him, bracing himself for the worst, but he could not stop his dearest conjunx from creating drama.

“Why, hello Drag Strip,” he drawled in that porpoisefully smug and needly way that could drive even the calmest person to violence, “I think you’ll find we had a very good reason for going dark on you.”

Though Drag Strip was far from being the calmest person, drive her to violence it did. Several explaintives that must certianly be curse words in some alien language later, Drag Strip was back on her  _ real _ Lower Kaon accent with that metal-scream rasp.

“Fuckin’ hell, is  _ this _ why Wildrider was so fucking cagey about your whereabouts, you sly lil’ weasel?”

“I would’ve invited you to the wedding, dearest, but Breakdown was scared you’d maul me.”

Breakdown slapped him lightly on the arm. Nightbeat started full-on cackling in the background.

“Who the fuck is— Alright that is beside the point. Congratulations on the wedding, I’ll maul Knock Out later or whatever, but I called for a reason. It’s important.”

“Uh, you can say your piece then, Dragster, I promise Knock Out will behave.” Knock Out did not like that much, and he made it plenty clear, but stepped back to give him space regardentess.

“Right, good,” she clicked her vocaliser, readjusting its settings, “So, Wildrider told me you’d be interested in being Menasor again when we’ve all touched base on the homeplanet, yes?”

“I— Yes, of course. I miss being—” He couldn’t find the words, it never did come easy to him, but  _ yes yes yes _ . “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” the crooked smile was audible in her voice, “Well, I think ‘Rider did tell you I got us a fifth?”

“They did.”

“Good. We found Dead End practically living in a dumpster back here, but a lil’ TLC from the home team should fix him up a bit. Either way, right now he’s trying to get us a Combiner engineer to fix  _ us _ up right for combination again, but it just occurred to me that  _ you _ may be able to lend more of a hand than I originally thought.”

_ Huh?? _

“Me?”

_ “You _ .” She answered pointedly. “Well, ‘you’ as in ‘the two of you’. Mr Knockers might make himself useful, at last.”

“Excuse me, Mr  _ what?” _ Knock Out couldn’t have moved back to the microphone any faster.

“I said what I said. So, back to business, you helped the animal freak make Abominus a thing, yes?”

“Yes, I was the medical supervisor of the project and attendant to the individual Terrorcons under Sky-Byte. You want me to play nurse to your whole polycule then, is that it?”

“I haaaate the way you said that!”

“You weeeere intended to hate it!”

Drag Strip sighed very very deeply, and Breakdown couldn’t help but synthesise. His conjunx was great and he ablusolutely loved him, but he was a special kind of intentionally obnoxious. 

“We  _ need _ your medical expertise to make sure Dead End’s Autobot bartender doesn’t just weld us together aft to aft.”

“How would that work with five of you?”

_ “Figure of speech,”  _ she spat through teeth, “But we need a  _ Decepticon _ second opinion so you better heal mechs as good as you drive ‘em absolutely nuts.”

“Well, I—”

Breakdown stopped him right there.

“He’ll do it! I… wouldn’t really trust an Autobot not to ‘just weld us together aft to aft’, as you said.”

“Right, good. That’s the kind of initiative I like to see. Team Stunticon is under new management and you just earned some points to balance out your negative score.”

“N-negative score?”

“For _well-meaning friend evasion_ and eloping, bolthead,” Drag Strip needled, “Otherwise you’re the single most well-behaved little toy car I’ve ever met. For a Decepticon, at least.”

All three of his other crew members snickered at that.

“I’m  _ not _ a toy car!” 

“Sorry to break it to you, Breaks, but you kind of are.” Betrayal of the highest kind, from the as-of-yet quiet Skids.

“Who  _ are _ all those people, Primus fuck!” Drag Strip shouted, “Send me your crew manifesto right now.”

_ Oh no. Oh nononononono. _

“We are a ragtag unaffiliated crew, darling, there’s no manifesto,” Knock Out saved face for them, “But you can meet them face-to-face when we land.”

“I  _ better.” _

“You will, uh,” Breakdown reassured her, but then it hit him, “But are you saying we’re gonna get an Autobot scientist playing around in our internals?”

“Oh, don’t fucking at me on that! Your shuttle  _ literally _ has an Autobot ship code.”  _ Called the fuck out.  _ “But, again, I am counting on Knock Out to  _ at least _ do all the heavy duty maintenance on that because as much as I support Dead End’s quest for spike I do  _ not _ trust that guy not to nerf Menasor.”

“Excuse me, Dead End’s quest for  _ what?” _

_ Dear Primus, was he about to be reengineered  _ again _ just because Dead End wanted to get laid? _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late and i cannot believe i missed the chance to screenshot this at 666 hits...  
> either way! the one on one conversation, finally

By the time the last of the customers filtered out of the bar, Dead End’s nerves had already half-fried his brain. This was absolutely ridiculous — Dead End was no blushing virgin struggling to make eye contact with his beloved, he’d been around the block quite a bit, just not… not in a really, really long time, nor with the incredible complicator of “we were two of the ten-odd suckers stuck on this ball for millennia and we’ve fought and countered one another enough to know each other but not  _ know _ each other and suddenly we gotta work together and I might have an emotional attachment to you or something”. Ugh,  _ feelings. _

Things were  _ so _ much easier when he was just some working class charm doing freelance modelling to keep up his skincare compulsion.

Drag Strip and Astraea had bid him goodbye once dusk fell, all smirking and playful needling, presumably to gossip about all this to Wildrider. It was honestly so  _ strange _ to have Drag Strip actively encourage this, but he supposed a sample size of one wasn’t a good measure to predict things from — he still really wanted to see what would come out of that once Breakdown and co landed.

Still, that had left him alone with his big mug of plain energon for a whole three joors wishing he had the mind to do this drunk instead, but he respected Perceptor and really wanted this work out, even if not in a more up-close-and-personal way. 

In fact, he was already so out of his mind  _ sober _ that the silence of afterhours didn’t register for a whole breem or two. Perceptor hadn’t yet come to… not tell him to leave this time, and seemed to have prioritised clearing up the remaining tables — fair, he guessed, Dead End  _ was _ the last thing he had to attend to today.

Resolving to make himself useful, Dead End got up from his chair and gathered up his own empty cup and the ones left on the tables close by, taking them back to the counter. Perceptor’s scope turned to follow him, he noticed, its owner continuing to wipe down an already free table by touch and familiarity alone. Dead End waved awkwardly to him as he settled the mugs down, flinching at the excessive clinkling — smooth, smooth,  _ smooth. _

“You’re doing fine,” Perceptor chimed in, a shadow of amusement on his voice, “If you may, get the back of the salon for me, please?”

The  _ “Yessir”  _ response was almost automatic. As much as he had outright contempt for most higher authority figures who weren’t the big guy himself, millennia of serving under Skywarp’s short fuse conditioned him like so. He tried to hide his subvocal mumbling over how  _ stupid _ that was as he gathered a cleaning rag and a serving tray to help him do this properly, and thankfully Perceptor did not comment.

Clean-up took significantly less time than Dead End had expected it to, probably because four hands did it better than just two, and soon the full dread of one-on-one conversation crashed down on him once more. He couldn’t help but squeak in  _ panic _ as Perceptor laced their arms to lead him to the bar’s backroom —  _ where that freaky alloygator hangs out _ , his mind supplied readily.

“So, uh, is Skullcruncher still in there?” He asked as Perceptor keyed open the door, trying to shift the focus to immediate physical danger rather than his frazzled nerves.

“She will not be present for our talk, if privacy’s what you’re worried about. I have found that she is rather agreeable when referred to with the proper pronouns and modifiers.”

That made him do a double take.

“You talk to the gator? And she responds?”

Perceptor smiled slightly.

“Why yes, she is fully sapient and even capable of transformation. Probably an escaped citizen from Chela who sought asylum within the last planet-bound Titan, but she is quite difficult to get concrete answers from.”

This was absolutely  _ crazy. _ Dead End was sure it must’ve shown on his face because Perceptor’s smile grew even more  _ noticeable _ .

“But this is not about Skullcruncher,” he said as he pulled Dead End into the room, “This is about you and what I can do for you.”

Dead End dry-swallowed.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“So?”

“So…” Dead End scrambled his brain for words, but found very little coherent thought in it, “So, uh, you can use ‘she’ for me too, if you want.”

“Do you prefer it?”

Oh slag, so now he had to explain it.

“Not… exactly? I prefer ‘he’ most of the time, but I like hearing pronouns, modifiers and titles typically associated with ‘confront’ from people I’m cool with sometimes.” Perceptor motioned at him to go on. “My gender stuff is, like, a whole mess and I guess my team doesn’t feel reintegrated enough to feel like they can use ‘she’ pronouns for me full-time and I don’t really have other friends, so that’s why you probably never heard it.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” Dead End teased a little, unable to let it go. “...Unless that bothers you, in which case I can stop?”

“It does not bother me," he stopped, meaningfully, " _much,_ but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me finish.”

“Right, sorry.”

And then Perceptor grinned, like an honest-to-Primus  _ grin _ … for his standards anyway.

“I suppose my counting among ‘mechs you’re cool with’ is why you have chosen to entrust me with the rebuilding of your Combiner team?”

He didn’t say it, but Dead End couldn’t help but hear “You like me, don’t you?”. And he did, he really, really did, but he also liked his friends and owed them a complete body, so he would not press on it, not tonight.

“Yeah, and I’m also, like, semi-familiar with your work ethic so I know you won’t just weld us together aft-to-aft."

"That's quite the turn of phrase."  _ Was that a hint of a laugh? Oh Primus. _

“It happened once! This double agent Brainstorm guy didn’t pull any punches in ‘fixing us’ back when we first started trying to combine.” It was fun to think about it in hindsight, but truth had been that they had been having difficulty combining because they were all insanely mentally ill and fucking hated being stuck with each other and Motormaster’s heavy hand was  _ not helping _ . But this was different now. They were… better, marginally, and willing, finally.

“I do not doubt it. I did hear Menasor’s creation was… troublesome.” That was understating it, but Dead End wasn’t sure he could handle talking about that in further depth. “But I do not suppose you have as many stressors factoring in this time.” Again, understatement of the vorn. “It  _ is _ important that I understand the full situation of you and your peers in order to reengineer the lot of you though, which is why I wanted to have this talk with you.”

“Well,” Dead End’s earfins twitched curiously, “What do you want to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo if you have any doubts abt the gender thing i mentioned this chap, i did in fact start this fic going with my hc that dead end is nonbinary/bigender and uses both he and she pronouns, though he tends to default to he. this fic also goes w my hc that cybertronian gender is different than ours, and thus they have the "prepare, confront, repel" trinary of directives, which are associated with he, she and they pronouns respectively. this fic however is still tagged as m/m bc that's a good enough cultural translation of their gender and sexuality to ours, and were he human dead end would consider himself both mlm and wlw, as many irl nb bi ppl do


End file.
